Slit

Fayola played with her blade. Somebody was going to come along here soon, and
then she could go home. The alley was dark, and the alcove she stood in was
totally invisible until you were right beside it.

She heard the clicking of heels. Jesus, she thought. This one'll be fun.
Wearing heels, walking briskly, but no sense of panic or fear or anything. I
bet she thinks that things like this don't happen to her.

The heels drew near and Fayola peered closely at the figure briefly visible in
the light from the Lavarato apartment above. Long blonde hair, real skinny, I
suppose she calls it slim, blue dress, white nylons, white pumps. Jesus.
This one'll be really good.

Fayola slipped out of the alcove and followed the woman, keeping completely
silent until she was no more than five feet behind her. Then she made a loud
throat-clearing noise.

The woman whirled, caught totally off-guard. Then she turned as if to run,
but Fayola caught her arm. "You ain't goin' nowhere, Missy. You and me, we
got some business first." Then she giggled. Where did she get words like
that?

The woman struggled some more, and then suddenly the voice and the giggle
registered. "You--you--"

"Yeah, I'm a woman. Want to see?" Without waiting for a response, Fayola
pulled back one side of her jacket, revealing a bare tit. Then she resumed
her grip on the woman's arm. "What's your name?"

The woman was totally nonplussed. "What?"

"What's your fuckin' name, woman?" Fayola hissed.

"A-a-adia O'Neil."

"How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-three. What are you going to do to me? Who are you?"

Fayola chortled. "I ain't gonna do nothin' to you. Not physically. It's
what you're gonna do to me."

Adia looked confused again. "What?"

Fayola held out the knife, hilt-first. "Here, take this. Take it!"

Adia did, holding it in an amateur's grip. Never held a knife out of the
kitchen before. If she's even been in the kitchen. Jesus Christ. Can I pick
'em.

She opened her jacket again, this time with both hands. "Now make a slit,
down the middle. Just between my tits. Right there."

"What? I--"

"Jesus fucking Christ, lady, it's not like I'm asking you to kill me or
anything. It's a clean knife, I made sure of that. I just need you to do
this for me. I'm not going to turn you in the cops, or give 'em a knife with
your fingerprints and my blood on it. You can watch me clean it yourself
afterward. Just do it, OK?"

"But--why?"

"Doesn't matter. You don't need to know. It's just--never mind. Okay, I'll
walk you through it, okay? Just get a bit closer. You'll never break the
skin from that far away. Good. Now, put the point of the knife right there,
at the top of the breastbone. Not there, Jesus! On the bone! Now, push
harder. Harder! Break the fucking skin! Yes, like that. Now, keep
pressing, but move the knife downward. Don't press too hard, you'll dull the
point on the bone. Move it slowly. Keep pressing! Geez, you've got wimpy
arms. You should do some exercises." Fayola hissed as Adia finally seemed to
get the hang of it. Not too much pressure, not too little. Just enough.
Don't move too fast, let the edge of the blade part the skin. She'd honed
this one enough. It could cut a little skin.

The knife reached the notch at the bottom of the breastbone and Fayola's hand
snapped out to stop Adia's. She looked a little shocked, having been
concentrating so hard she forgot she wasn't supposed to slit Fayola to the
navel. "I'm sorry, I--"

"Forget it. You did a good job." She fingered the wound. The pressure was
easing, now that the flesh was out of the way.

"Listen, I--" Adia stopped, still flustered. She took a deep breath, and
said, "Could I do that again sometime?"

Fayola sucked in a breath, considering. Then she shrugged. "Sure, why not.
Come by here again--say, six weeks tonight. No, six weeks Thursday. What day
is that? August 9th? Whatever. And hey--give me the knife back, okay? Get
your own."

She took a deep breath. Yeah, the pressure was certainly eased. Jesus, can I
pick 'em.